The Moon and the Sun (23 page)

Louis waved away the objections. “Sailors live a hard life. Protection against old age and disease would never save a man from accident or drowning.”

“Cousin,” Innocent said, “perhaps your natural philosopher has the right of it. God drove us from Eden, after all, where we were immortal. Now we are mortal, but we live in the hopes of joining Him in everlasting life.”

“If God created an immortality organ, and commanded us to use beasts as we will

— then it is His will that we become immortal.”

Innocent frowned thoughtfully, troubled. “Earthly immortality would be a burden, not a satisfaction.” He hesitated. “Yet, if one were called to continue God’s work —”

“As I am,” His Majesty said.

“— one would submit... however burdened by Earthly flesh.”

Yves continued his exploration of the heart and the lungs. At the top of the chest, beneath the upper ribs, the highest lobe of the lung resisted his probe. He exclaimed wordlessly and pulled the lobe farther into view.

“This is unique.”

Marie-Josèphe glanced from the gutted sea monster to her brother, to Innocent, to His Majesty. All of them stared at the unusual lobe of the lung. The color differed, and the texture. A tangle of blood vessels covered its surface.

Only Count Lucien paid no attention to the carcass. He paid his attention to the King, gazing at his sovereign with hope, and relief, and love.

Yves lifted the unusual structure and cut it free of the normal lung.

“You have found it,” Louis said. “What else could it be?”

oOo

Marie-Josèphe hurried up the Green Carpet after Yves, holding her drawing box tight against her chest, protecting the record of her brother’s discoveries. Yves strode along before her. Far ahead, His Majesty’s deaf-mutes pushed his rolling cart at a run, and Pope Innocent’s chair carriers struggled to keep up. Count Lucien’s elegant grey Arabian trotted beside them. Early mist swirled at their heels. Yves might keep up with them, but Marie-Josèphe never could. She broke into a run, glad she was not wearing court dress. Ten paces ahead, Yves paused and waited impatiently. Torches gilded the chateau, cast shadows across the gardens, and haloedYves’ hair.

“Hurry, or we’ll get no sleep at all — you do want me to attend His Majesty’s awakening?” He smiled, teasing her.

She looked at the ground, embarrassed all over again for failing him yesterday.

They climbed the back stairs to the attic and their tiny apartment. As they ascended, a young courtier muffled in cloak and half-mask passed, creeping quietly down. He ignored their salute, as if the mask made him invisible.

Yawning and stretching, Yves disappeared into his bedroom to nap for a few hours.

Odelette and Hercules slept soundly in Marie-Josèphe’s bed, cuddled together, warm and safe. Marie-Josèphe put aside the temptation to join them in their comfortable nest.

If I fall asleep now, she thought, I shall never wake in time to rouse Yves. Besides, I’ve not done a moment’s work on the dissection sketches.

In Yves’ dressing room, she lit tallow candles and settled herself at the table to begin the painstaking task of redrawing the sketches with pen and ink. As she arranged the papers, she found the equation she had scribbled and scratched out. Her thoughts wandered to the problems that fascinated her, the description of God’s creations —

God’s will, perhaps — in precise terms. She wrote a second equation for predicting the motion of rustling leaves; she saw that it would not work, either, even when she added the effect of gravity.

This is as difficult a problem as predicting the actions of my dear leaf-rustler Madame! Marie-Josèphe though, amused.

She rubbed out the equation, and turned her attention to Yves’ drawings.

At six o’clock, Marie-Josèphe put several finished drawings away and slipped into her room to change clothes; she and Odelette must attend Lotte; they must all help Madame dress; they must gather in the antechamber outside His Majesty’s bedroom and join the procession to Mass.

I mustn’t fail my duties to Mademoiselle, Marie-Josèphe thought. Not two days in a row. I must attend Mass —

She had promised to attend last night; she had forgotten.

Odelette’s soft breathing was the only sound. Hercules slipped in through the open window, leaving the curtain a handsbreadth open; he stretched and yowled, demanding breakfast. Gray morning light from the west-facing window woke Odelette. She blinked, her long lashes brushing her cheeks, beautiful even a moment out of sleep.

“Have you sat up all night, Mlle Marie?” Odelette whispered. “Come to bed, you can rest a little while.”

“It’s time to get up,” Marie-Josèphe said. “Help me change my dress — and you must do my hair. Mademoiselle wants you this morning.”

Sitting up, Odelette cried out. She drew her hand from beneath the covers. Blood smeared her fingertips.

“Quick, Mlle Marie, before I stain the bedclothes —”

Marie-Josèphe flung open her storage chest, snatched up a handful of soft clean rags, and took them to Odelette.

Odelette thrust the pad between her legs to soak up her monthly flow, then curled miserably beneath the blankets. She always suffered terribly from her monthlies.

“I’m so sorry, Mlle Marie —”

“You must stay in bed,” Marie-Josèphe said. She put Hercules beside Odelette and stroked his soft fur, the tabby stripes of two textures, till he gave up asking for his breakfast and snuggled warm against Odelette’s sore back. “In bed, with our bed-warmer.” Odelette smiled, though her lips trembled. “And I’ll send you some broth. You must drink it, but share a little with Hercules.”

“Mlle Marie, you must wear a towel today.”

She and Odelette had always begun their monthlies on the same day. They had been apart so long, surely that rule had been lost with distance? But when Marie-Josèphe counted, Odelette was right. Marie-Josèphe tied a rolled towel between her legs and struggled into her grand habit. She must not spoil another dress.

Poor Odelette, her women’s troubles pained her so. Marie-Josèphe kissed her cheek.

Marie-Josèphe unbraided her hair and dressed it simply, without lace or ribbons.

She looked like a naive colonial girl, but she could do no more without Odelette’s help.

In Yves’ room, she sat on the edge of his bed and shook him gently.

“Yves — brother, it’s time to get up.”

“I’m awake,” he mumbled.

Marie-Josèphe smiled fondly and shook him again. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and stretching.

“I am awake,” he said.

“I know.” She kissed his cheek. “I must fly, to Mademoiselle.”

She hurried down the attic stairs. She felt lucky not to suffer from her monthlies as Odelette did. If she had to keep to her bed, she would miss greeting His Majesty after his morning ceremony, she would miss following the King to Mass.

She would miss caring for the sea monster, and Yves might give her place to Chartres.

oOo

Lucien’s carriage flew along the Avenue de Paris and past the lines of visitors waiting to enter His Majesty’s gardens. The carriage followed the same route as Pope Innocent’s, all the way to the steps of the Marble Courtyard.

Despite the inconvenience — His Majesty seldom concerned himself with the convenience of his courtiers — the King permitted few carriages to enter the forecourt of the chateau. Lucien accepted the perquisite as the King intended, as a sign of esteem. He rode in his carriage more often than he might otherwise have done, to publicly take advantage of His Majesty’s favor.

His footman placed the steps and held the door. Lucien climbed down, leaning easily on his walking staff. He had not slept, but he had refreshed himself. Thanks to Sieur de Baatz’ salve, his leg had nearly healed; thanks to Juliette, thanks to the distractions of calvados and stimulation, the pain in his back was quite tolerable.

His eight matched coach horses stood rock-still, bay coats and harness gleaming.

“Return to my chateau and put yourself at the disposal of Mme la Marquise,”

Lucien said to his coachman. “She will wish to attend today’s picnic at His Majesty’s Menagerie.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lucien crossed the black and white marble of the courtyard, entered the chateau through its central doors, beneath the balcony of the King’s apartment, and took his usual route to His Majesty’s bedroom.

Waiting by his brother’s bed, Monsieur stifled a yawn. The duke d’Orléans often rode to Paris after the King’s evening entertainments, for he found Versailles constraining. On occasion, Lucien joined him. Though he did not share all Monsieur’s tastes, he appreciated the duke’s ability to enjoy himself. But for Lucien, the events of the previous night had been more rewarding than any diversion Monsieur might imagine.

This morning, everything was as it should be. No one could suspect last night of being extraordinary; no one could suspect the King had stayed awake all night seeking immortality. His Majesty performed the rituals of his awakening with his accustomed grace and dignity.

Lucien noted, with approval, that Yves de la Croix had ceased to spurn the privilege of fifth entry. The Jesuit bowed to His Majesty with adequate elegance. Lucien feared de la Croix had been brought too high too quickly, that his abrupt elevation would result in disaster for him and for his sister. Other men waited years for Fifth Entry.

Unlike His Majesty, de la Croix did look as if he had been up all night. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.

Perhaps the King had dozed since returning from the secret dissection, or perhaps he had lain awake considering the implications of Yves de la Croix’s discoveries.

His Majesty might never die, Lucien thought. If he never dies, the realm will never be subjected to Monseigneur’s reign. If he never dies, he will escape the influence of Mme de Maintenon. He will reinstate the Edict of Nantes. He will cease making war on his own people.

Lucien joined His Majesty’s procession from the official bedchamber. The King’s gout troubled him today, but he concealed his discomfort.

In the first chamber, dozens of less favored courtiers crowded together. Inured to their magnificent surroundings, bored by the paintings and frescoes, the carved marble and the gilded representations of Apollo and the sun, they stood, yawning sleepily, gossiping, trading insults veiled as compliments. When His Majesty appeared, they fell silent and saluted their sovereign.

When they rose, Mlle de la Croix gazed at His Majesty, in awe, like the colonial girl she remained. Her cheeks flushed with excitement. Lucien sympathized with her amazement. He loved Louis, as he had loved Queen Marie Thérèse. He missed the queen; he still grieved for her, though she was ten years gone. Having spent most of his life at court, he knew better than to display everything he felt. He hoped Mlle de la Croix would learn, soon, not to reveal herself quite so plainly.

As he always did, Lucien left the procession when His Majesty approached the chapel.

As His Majesty disappeared into the chapel to perform his religious devotions, Lucien wondered, Does immortality extend life into endless sickness and aging? Or...

might it convey perfect health, and everlasting youth?

oOo

Marie-Josèphe curtsied low with the other courtiers as His Majesty strode from his room. His brother and his son and his grandsons and the Foreign Princes Condé and Conti and Lorraine and the legitimized duke du Maine and the Chevalier de Lorraine and Count Lucien followed. In their brilliant company, Yves was as drab as a crow. She wished, sometimes, that he was a young courtier rather than a Jesuit, that he practiced war instead of learning, that he dressed in diamonds and silk.

But, then, she thought, I would be even less a part of his life, and I would be nothing to his work, because he would have none. He would marry, his wife would manage his household, he would have no room for a spinster sister.

She sighed, then thought, I might not be a spinster, if he were not a priest. He would promote my marriage; our family might have the resources to allow it.

She shrugged off her fantasies. As the King passed, people stepped forward to press letters into his hands, to beg him for favors, for pensions, for a position in his household. Even ordinary folk could petition him, as he paraded with his family on his way to Mass.

Mme de Maintenon and the other women of the royal family joined His Majesty.

Marie-Josèphe surveyed Mademoiselle as she passed, criticizing herself. She had not dressed Lotte’s hair as beautifully as Odelette would have done.

A roar of greeting and affection rose from the crowd of visitors as soon as the King appeared. Lesser nobles, tradesmen and their wives, all those who presented themselves at the gate decently dressed, had the right to enter the chateau grounds and see their sovereign. The crowd parted for him, but pressed close as soon as he had passed. Marie-Josèphe pushed through the crush of bodies, trying to keep her place, trying not to feel afraid.

“Your Majesty, a boon to ask —”

“Please, Your Majesty, heal my son —”

The procession paused as the King accepted the petitions of his subjects and passed the letters to Count Lucien. He laid his hand on the swollen throat of a child, when the mother begged for a cure for the King’s Disease.

The crowded, echoing chapel was a relief after the crush of the courtyard.

Marie-Josèphe took her place in the pew behind Madame’s. Hugging her shawl close, Madame kissed Marie-Josèphe’s cheek.

“Perhaps the new chapel will be warmer,” Madame said, but her tone was not very hopeful.

Marie-Josèphe had to smother a giggle. References to Hell freezing over often accompanied speculations about the new chapel’s eventual completion. She wondered if hell, frozen, would be warmer than the old chapel. She wished she could tell Madame the joke. In her own way, Madame was very pious, but she loved God rather than the rituals and ceremonies of the church. She had been a heretic, a Protestant, in her youth; court gossips claimed her conversion was a fraud, entered into only to allow her to marry Monsieur.

Marie-Josèphe thought she might tell Count Lucien the joke, but Count Lucien was nowhere to be seen.